


A Civil Conversation

by ShadowoftheLamp



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 11:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14080371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowoftheLamp/pseuds/ShadowoftheLamp
Summary: Marik has a talk with his other self, who’s a bit different after his return from the shadows once Zorc was defeated, to try and come to an agreement.





	A Civil Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> It's just rated T for language, which I wasn't sure about but better safe than sorry.
> 
> This is the start of my post-canon deathshipping and angstshipping au that I hopefully will write more for soon. (Also wow Yami Marik is both really fun and really hard to write.)

The tomb was mostly quiet.

Tombs tended to be, of course, but his memories of this particular one usually involved noise. Crackling fire, sizzling metal and flesh, strained screaming into a rag.

Blood splattering unto hands and ancient stone.

He twirled the Rod between his hands, fingers twisting the spherical top by the wings.

He was used to the quiet, now. When he’d first returned, there had been some excitement- vomiting, shrieking, tearing up pillows. But when the fear had faded, the resentment and anger had set in, and without the magic of the Rod to draw energy, he couldn’t force thoughts into Marik’s head.

Marik had locked the door ages ago, and there wasn’t much to do anymore, except pace and explore and try to siphon off whatever emotions he could grasp at for energy.

So often now it was guilt. Guilt wasn’t nearly as fun as anger or fear.

There was noise now and then, but it was always just out of reach. Muted screams, padding footsteps, a rush of fire that died out before it reached him. It didn’t take long to realize that it was always just out of reach, and it was useless chasing it.

So when he heard a door creaking at first he didn’t move from the slab he was resting on.

“Hello?”

Marik. His voice wasn’t as common as Rishid’s or Father’s or Ishizu’s, but it popped up every once in a while.

“Are you in here?”

He pulled the end off the Rod and stuck out his tongue in concentration, trying to aim the sharp point at the torch by the entrance before chucking it as hard as he could. It struck the metal holding the torch up, giving off a long ‘CLAAANG’ that vibrated through the room and down the hall.

A wave of his hand and it was back in his grip, but by the time the sound faded, footsteps had replaced the metallic ring.

“I’m not leaving until we talk.” A shadow began to creep up the wall.

“What do  _you_ want?” His voice echoed bitter, and he slid off the slab, once again unsheathing the blade.

The footsteps froze, and he snorted. “Oh, don’t shut up now that I said something.”

“I’m… just here to talk.”

“So start talking. I don’t have all day.”

Main Personality finally found the proper entrance and walked in. His hair was pulled back into a braid, and he was in a leather vest, but otherwise he looked the same as he always had. A few paces put them within an arm’s width of each other. To his credit, Marik didn’t step back, but the hot breath on his face made him narrow his eyes.

“We need to work this out.” Marik’s vision darted down to the Rod in the other’s hand.

At that, a grin spread across his face. “What, you finally decided that you need me? After all these months, you know that you-”

“I’ve been going to therapy.”

Marik might as well have turned into a sphinx for all the words sunk in. As it was, all he could do was widen his eyes and spit out “If you came for an apology, you can fuck off,” as his fingers tightened around the cool metal of the Rod. “I’m not sorry for any of it.”

“I haven’t.” Marik had both hands resting at his sides.

“Then why? The last time we talked you shoved me back here, screaming you never wanted to see me again. You’re as much a mess as ever. More than ever- at least before, you had a point! Now you’re mucking around, trying to figure out how to be a good person, because you’re ashamed that you were devoted to something that didn’t kiss the Pharaoh’s ass-”

“The Pharaoh has already passed on. I don’t give a rat’s ass how you feel about him anymore, I couldn’t bring him back if I wanted to.” Marik took a deep breath. “I’m not here to argue with you, I’m here to offer a truce.”

“I’m not interested in your scraps. I survived six years-”

“You survived six years on shadow magic and me being a completely unrepentant asshole.” Marik said flatly.

That got a barking laugh. “So you do still have some life in you, Main Personality!”

“If you let me finish, I’m here because I want to talk. To… apologize.” The word was dragged out, foreign on his tongue for so long.

“Oh, this I have to hear. What, you’re sorry you locked me in a box? Sorry you didn’t kill that miserable bastard of our father earlier? Sorry that you were never as strong as me?”

“I’m sorry I made you.”

In an instant, the blade was raised to the side of Marik’s neck.

“You’ll want to choose your words carefully.” He hissed.

Marik swallowed. “I mean, I’m sorry that I’ve been using you as a dumping ground for all the garbage in my life since we were ten.”

“I’d rather be hated than pitied.”

“I don’t pity you, I’m trying to  _empathize_ with you!” Marik grabbed his wrist, narrowing his eyes. “Do you even know what we are?”

“Fucked up?” One side of his mouth quirked up into a smile.

“Yes, but-” Marik suddenly paused, and let out a little laugh. “Yeah, we are.” Another breath in and out, and he sobered up. “But there’s a word for when there’s more than one person in somebody’s head because of childhood trauma. That’s us.”

“Do enlighten me, dearest Main Personality.” The sardonic comment was accompanied by a roll of his eyes.

“We have disassis- no, wait. It was… dissociative identity disorder.”

“So knowing what it’s called fixes everything? You really  _have_ slipped.”

“It generally lasts a lifetime.” Marik took a step back, careful not to poke his neck on the point of the Rod. “And you were mostly fueled by the bad stuff I couldn’t handle, so…”

“Let me guess. If you heap rainbows and drool glitter it’ll fix me.” One could practically taste the sarcasm in the air. “I still don’t regret anything I’ve done, and that’s probably an important component.”

“I’ll let you out.”

That gave him pause. “Aren’t you worried I’ll hurt someone?”

“Of course I am, but we’re not going to do that right away.”

“Admitting you’re scared is-”

“Weak?” Marik raised an eyebrow. “Now you sound like Father did.”

Within two steps he had Marik pinned against the wall, one hand twisted into his shirt and the other holding the blade between his eyes, torch flickering against his skin and hair. “If you ever say that again, I’ll rip your throat out and feed it to Ammit myself.”

“Words make me weak, but you can’t handle the truth. You hated him so much you became him.”

“I’ve never tried killing someone within a soul room,” He snarled. “I’m  _dying_ to find out what would happen.”

“You’d fracture. There would be more of us to worry about.” Marik replied. “We’re getting off topic.”

“What makes you think I’d want to make any kind of truce with you? With enough time I could force my way back up.”

“Because if I willingly give you freedom, then maybe you’d see things my way. I want to help you. It’s my fault you’re like this.”

“I happen to like how I-”

“You think I  _didn’t_?” Marik glared at him. “I knew  _exactly_ who I was. Marik Ishtar, leader of the Ghouls, the one who would enact 3000 years of vengeance for the Tombkeeper lineage. But I realized that anger and hatred only gave me a list of regrets as long as the Nile and an absence of a purpose. I changed, and you can too.”

Slowly, the blade began to lower. “I tried to kill you. You really are going to just forget that?”

His lips tightened, before they began to curve up into a smile. “I’ve done worse.”

“What are you going to make me do?” Half a step back, allowing Marik a bit of room to stand up straighter. He took a moment to brush off his vest.

“First off, you’re going to come to therapy with me. It’s an absolute pain in the ass but it helps.” He stuck out his tongue at that, but Marik kept going. “Secondly, we’re only going to switch who’s fronting in the living room at first. There isn’t anything you can use as a weapon, and Ryou’s agreed to stay with you so you don’t try and hurt me.”

“Ryou?”

“Bakura’s host. The one that had the Ring?”

“Oh, the one with the white hair. We never really met the host, did we? Fine, I can agree to that. Anything else?”

“That was as far as we got.” His eyes drifted upwards. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised this is your soul room.”

“What’s yours?”

“My apartment from when I ran the Ghouls.” The answer came quickly. “We’re both stuck in the past.”

“Like a fly in a web.” He reached for Marik’s shirt again, but Marik faded away before his hand could make contact. He was left grasping at air.

For the first time in a while, he sighed and grabbed the torch, walking down the hall of the tomb and away from the ritual room.

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t have DID and I’m sure the research I did for this doesn’t cover everything, so don’t hesitate to tell me if I messed something up. Also, Marik didn’t mention possible integration because he’s preeeeetty sure Yami Marik would be pissed he even brought it up and he’s already walking on thin ice.
> 
> I love reviews!


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